


recover

by inexhaustible



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh!
Genre: Gen, M/M, buddyshipping - Freeform, mentions of domestic abuse, the pairing is one-sided and only hinted at
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-01
Updated: 2018-08-01
Packaged: 2019-06-19 23:09:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15520755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inexhaustible/pseuds/inexhaustible
Summary: It’s been a while since Honda’s been the kid to come home with bloody knuckles and black eyes, but he still remembers the dark thrill of having Jounouchi’s back, of the fight still burning in his veins.But — he doesn’t have Jounouchi’s back in this, and it makes him powerless, angry.(or, the one where Honda patches Jounouchi up.)





	recover

**Author's Note:**

> mentions of jounouchi's home life (ie. domestic abuse, alcoholism)  
> i've never gotten over DM; been binging it recently and all it's been doing is making me ship so many rarepairs. i'll prob roll over and write a wishshipping thing after this too, hell.
> 
> (listen, if i had the self-discipline to write longfic, you'd bet i'd be gearing up to write a ryou/marik epic rn bc angstshipping's taking over my life.)
> 
> i really, really hope this fandom's still alive; pleaaase send me some DM fic reqs over at @miraclefusion on tumblr or @algesian on twitter! <3

It's a damn miracle that he's the only one home when Jounouchi arrives at his front door with a bang on the front door and a hoarse yell of "Honda, open up!"

Honda grumbles complaints under his breath the whole way there, but gets up to let him in, a sharp rebuke already on his tongue before the door swings open to reveal Jounouchi, clearly worse for wear. There are cuts across his face, a slow trickle of blood coming down across his brow, and a bruise spreading across his cheek that looks suspiciously like —

Honda's annoyance dies in his throat as he swings the door open to let Jounouchi in. "Did you get into a fight?"

"No," Jounouchi replies, terse, as he steps in, toeing off his shoes. Honda sighs, pursing his lips and closing the door behind him.

"Thought you left that kind of stuff behind," Honda mumbles, and Jounouchi grits his teeth, shaking his head.

"Told you, it wasn't like that." There's a tension in his voice that Honda recognizes. Concern, familiar in his chest, blooms sharp and sudden under his skin, and he places a soft hand on Jounouchi's shoulder.

"C'mon," he says, steering Jounouchi toward his room. "Let's get you cleaned up."

Jounouchi yields without complaint, strangely quiet, and Honda feels himself frown, fingers clenching tighter around Jounouchi's shoulder. It's not the first time this has happened, and Honda has a feeling that it won't be the last.

He'll ask later, after he's cleaned Jounouchi up, he decides. For now, he continues to lead Jounouchi forward, gesturing for him to sit on his bed. His covers are tucked in impeccably, as always, and they wrinkle and shift in place as Jounouchi takes a seat. Small sacrifices, he decides, are necessary. Honda ducks into the adjoining bathroom, opening a drawer and pulling out a small first aid kit he keeps for situations like this. At this point, he thinks grimly, he may as well just write Jounouchi's name on it.

Jounouchi's always been the type to get himself into fights, always snapping at the opportunity to prove himself with his words, his fists. Honda's known him for years, now, and he still wonders if he'll change. Leaving Hirutani and his thugs behind was a start, but he's still a far cry from the kid Honda'd saved from bullies so long ago. Honda snaps himself back into the present when he hears Jounouchi curse faintly from his room, and turns to see the blond raising a hand to touch the wounds on his temple.

"Don't touch it," Honda snaps, opening the kit and walking over. He rips open a packet of alcohol wipes, shaking it open before reaching out to tip Jounouchi's head back with his free hand. "Don't move, idiot."

Jounouchi looks like he's about to protest, but his reply turns into a pained hiss when Honda smooths the wipe across his cuts. He's still avoiding Honda's gaze. Honda puts down the alcohol wipe, raising a hand to smooth Jounouchi's messy bangs back from his forehead, revealing the worst of the damage. Anger boils quietly beneath his skin, and when Honda speaks, it's measured, quiet.

"How'd this happen?" Jounouchi swallows, pulling back from Honda's touch. Honda doesn't react, rooting back through the kit to pull out a handful of butterfly closures. He gets to work on sealing the worst of the cuts, the silence cutting heavy between them.

It's Honda that breaks the silence first — it always is. "Your dad," he starts. "Is he drinking again?"

Jounouchi's laugh is dark, resigned. "You say that like he's ever stopped."

Honda's jaw clenches, and he almost fumbles the plastic wrapper in his hands. "That guy..."

It's only out of respect for Jounouchi that Honda doesn't let himself say anything more. He bites back his anger, willing his hands to still. If Jounouchi would let him, he'd end that bastard with his own hands — but he swallows it down, if only for his friend.

"I'm sorry," he tries. _You don't deserve this_ , he wants to say, but he can't find the words.

"For what?" Jounouchi says, with a bitter smile. "I brought this on myself."

"Shut up," Honda growls, grabbing Jounouchi's collar. The fabric under his fingers is already threadbare, fraying under his fingers. "That's a lie and you know it."

"Is it?" Jounouchi asks, quietly. He looks away. "Maybe. Maybe not."

Honda wants to punch him. It's a kneejerk reaction, a remnant of the delinquent he'd been before he'd cleaned himself up, putting on the front of the class president wannabe, beautification club and all — but he holds himself back, fingers twisting wrinkles into Jounouchi's shirt. It's been a while since Honda's been the kid to come home with bloody knuckles and black eyes, but he still remembers the dark thrill of having Jounouchi's back, of the fight still burning in his veins.

But — he doesn't have Jounouchi's back in this, and it makes him powerless, angry. "Don't say that kind of shit to my face, Jounouchi. You're — you don't deserve this shit, and you know it."

Jounouchi flinches like he's been hit. "You have too much faith in me."

"Shut up," Honda says, again. "You could be a lot more than —"

 _Than whatever Hirutani and your father have made you think you are_ , he finishes, silently. Jounouchi meets his eyes, challenging.

"Than what? Some beat up charity case from the wrong crowd?"

"That's not what you are," Honda grits out, letting go of Jounouchi's shirt. They're close, Honda realizes, faintly, pointedly ignoring the heat that flushes beneath his skin.

"Then what am I?" Jounouchi sounds defeated, eyes glancing up to meet Honda's.

"You're my _friend_ ," Honda insists. "And if you can't get it through your thick skull that I care about you —"

Jounouchi's fingers clench in Honda's shirt, and for a split second, Honda has the insane thought that he's about to pull Honda in and kiss him. His heart stutters in his chest, before the moment passes and it's just Jounouchi, resting his head against Honda's collarbone, breaths coming shakily.

"Just — just stop talking," Jounouchi says, softly, and Honda softens, raising an arm to throw around Jounouchi's shoulders in a loose hug.

"Suit yourself," Honda says, with a small shrug. "But it's true, y'know. I've got your back, no matter what."

"Yeah," Jounouchi replies.

They don't talk for a long while, after that.


End file.
